


July 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [12]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:31:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 13,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 challenge ficlets for the month of July.





	1. One-Hundred Eighty-Three: Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a poltergeist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt "Dean getting impaled with concerned!sammy i'm a freak sorry". Big fan. Very nice.
> 
> Uh... don't try this at home?

It’s a poltergeist. It’s always the fucking poltergeists, throwing debris around in their chaotic attempts to preserve their own existence. Not the first one they’ve faced, and it won’t be the last, and it’s supposed to be a routine hunt. It’s  _always_ supposed to be a routine hunt, Sam supposes, but whenever things go sideways like this- 

It’s- it’s hard to remember that this is a part of their job.

At least the damn thing’s dead. The house has been purified and the spirit is gone, a heaviness lifted from the air so Sam feels like he can breathe again. Or, well, until he suddenly  _can’t,_ because he finds his brother with a length of wood- smooth finish, curved detailing; thing probably got ripped off a table- buried in his stomach. 

He panics, first. Feels his heart stop beating and time slow down, all his attention zeroing in on the blood pooling around Dean’s body where he’s slumped against the wall. Thinks his brother’s dead for one horrible, suffocating moment, but then Dean groans, coughs, tries to sit up. Sam kicks into care-and-protect like a switch has been flipped and doesn’t waste any time in crossing the room towards him.

“Fuck, Dean,” he whispers because he can’t help it. Drops down next to him and shoves some other junk out of the way, scrambles to think like he’s trying to save Dean’s life instead of struggling to come to terms with the fact that it’s even in danger. “You- shit. Talk to me.”

A moment of pained breathing- he’s not wheezing, doesn’t sound wet; at least the wood hasn’t punctured one of his lungs- and then Dean responds, a low mumble. “Ouch.”

Sam’s laugh is breathless and a hair from hysteria, but he shakes it off, reaches up to rub a hand roughly over his face. “Okay, I- um. I gotta… I’m gonna get your shirt outta the way, okay?”

Dean doesn’t respond with much else besides a half-hearted nod, and Sam figures it’s good enough. The shirt’s already ruined so he’s not shy about tearing it to get it out of his way, heart in his throat when he sees all the blood. Not as much as it could be; impalements are always a double-edged sword of internal damage versus plugging up a wound that should’ve had someone bleeding out in minutes. Of course Dean’s life is still in danger, but if nothing else, it could always be worse.

It takes a moment to reach around Dean’s back- “jus’ hold still, ‘kay?”- and Sam runs his fingertips over his brother’s skin, holds his breath and then feels like it’s entirely sucked out of his chest when he bumps against the other end of the wood. It’s gone all the fucking way through, skewered Dean like a kabob ready to serve, and Sam can’t- he can’t do this. He can’t do this on his own.

“You need to go to the hospital,” he manages once his brain reconnects to his body. “You- fuck.”

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin when Dean’s hand comes up, clumsily pats at his cheek. “S’okay,” he insists, stops to cough a moment. Sam’s flecked with bits of blood and he swallows hard. “I, uh- you’ll take good care o’ me, yeah?”

It’s all Sam can do to nod, to absorb his brother’s faith in him and try to get to work.

He packs the remains of Dean’s shirt around the spot where the wood meets Dean’s skin, slowing the bleeding and keeping it steady. It’s harder to get at Dean’s back but Sam manages all the same, focuses on keeping everything stable and talking to Dean. The last thing he needs is for his brother to pass out; he might be bigger, but carrying Dean on his own, unconscious and severely injured, will likely only cause more damage. He feels a little bit of relief for every moment Dean remains responsive, and thinks maybe they’ll actually make it through this.

“Gonna get you up, okay?” Sam mumbles, getting Dean’s arm up around his shoulders while he carefully curls his own low around Dean’s waist. He tries not to look at the table leg protruding from Dean’s body. “On three.”

He counts and they stand, Dean managing to keep his feet under him even though he leans much of his weight on Sam. It’s obvious he’s in pain- probably not as much as he should be; shock and blood loss have done a number on him- and from there, it’s a matter of making the trek to the car. Dean manages to keep up a steady stream of complaints on the way, bad jokes about his own state of health-

_(”Just like a great big splinter. No big deal.”)_

_”C’mon, Sammy, everything’s better served on a stick.”)_

-and trying to make Sam laugh. It feels backwards that his brother’s trying to take care of him  _now_ , but he smiles and holds Dean tight and keeps the Impala in his sights.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he mumbles and loads Dean into the passenger’s seat. “Just- stay with me, okay?”

“Not like I can go anywhere lookin’ like this,” Dean huffs, and he’s looking a little pale and sinks down into his seat and watches Sam intently until Sam cracks a smile. “Now c’mon. Time to surprise those folks at the ER.”

So Sam finds his way to the driver’s side and starts the car, peels out onto the road and wastes no time heading towards the hospital. Dean talks to him the whole way there, sounds like he’s sleepy but doesn’t close his eyes. Sam’s heart is pounding and the adrenaline is still working its way through his system, but- but Dean’s here. Dean’s here, and Dean’s trying to smile at him, and Dean’s gonna be okay.

They’re gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. One-Hundred Eighty-Four: Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So we’re actually doing this, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers doing brother things.

“So we’re actually doing this, huh?”

Sam glances up from what he’s doing, and Dean raises an eyebrow. He’s been watching his brother check and double-check and triple-check that they’ve got everything, all their supplies stuffed and tetris’d into a couple of backpacks. “Yeah, Dean. We’re doing this.”

No cases to speak of and they’re due for a vacation, anyways. In hindsight, Dean’s not sure how he was talked into this. “Camping.”

“Camping.”

Dean sighs at that and reaches up to rub at his face. “You and your… camping. C’mon, man, don’t we rough it enough as it is?”

When he looks up, Sam’s abandoned the packs in favour of crossing the room. Dean’s got himself seated on the edge of a bed and Sam reaches down to cup his cheek, thumb brushing under Dean’s bottom lip. Dean just stays where he is and tries to be subtle about pressing closer. “We haven’t been camping in ages. It’ll be fun, trust me.”

“Fun, huh?” Dean’s not entirely sure he believes that, but he doesn’t really want Sam to stop touching him, either. “How’s that?”

“Well…” Sam leans in close, then, bends at the waist until they’re eye-to-eye. “You see, we’re gonna be out in the woods. No one around. Open space, grass, water…” A little bit of a shrug, and he leans in until their lips just barely meet. “Know you’re a little bit of an exhibitionist, big brother.”

And- well, what’s Dean supposed to say to that?

Instead of a verbal response, he closes his eyes and presses their lips together more firmly, hears Sam laugh into the kiss as they press close. They might get started a little late, sure, but- but.

As Sam drops down to his knees on the floor in front of him, Dean figures that maybe he  _does_ know how he got talked into this, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. One-Hundred Eighty-Five: Retriever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes it all the way to the diner down the road before he realizes that his brother is no longer at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More silly, soft brothers. And a dog!

Dean makes it all the way to the diner down the road before he realizes that his brother is no longer at his side. His first instinct, naturally, is to panic- they’re in broad daylight, sure, and small-town America isn’t known for kidnappings that happen at noon on Main Street, but they’re far from normal as it is, and Dean wouldn’t put it past some twisted higher power to pull something like that on them when they’re supposed to be on an easy hunt-

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s your name? You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?”

And then Dean turns his head and spots his gigantic little brother crouched down in front of a dog, looking like a little kid while the dog’s owner waits patiently with an amused smile.

Sam’s attention is entirely focused on the animal in front of him, and he’s got the dog on her back, now, wiggling around while he rubs her tummy. Dean just shakes his head and heads back towards him, knowing that Sam isn’t going anywhere until he’s gotten his fix.

“Yeah, there you go,” Sam’s murmuring when Dean reaches him. Dean gives the dog’s owner- a woman probably about Sam’s age, and Dean’s seen the look on her face often enough to know she’s looking at his brother a little too close and a little too long- a half-smile, apologetic, before turning to watch. “That’s a good girl.”

“Mine’s the retriever,” the woman says mildly, and Dean bites back a smirk. “Yours got a name?”

“S’my brother, Sam.” Sam seems entirely uninterested in their conversation as he finishes what he’s doing. “Sorry, he’s a pretty big dog person.”

“Oh, I can tell.” Something in her voice paints an innuendo onto Dean’s words and he’s struggling not to laugh as Sam finally wrenches himself away from the dog. “We should get going. Maybe we’ll see you boys around?”

Sam stands, now, and it seems to occur to him suddenly that there had been a human at the other end of the dog’s leash. “Uh- we’re just passing through for a few days. Sorry, miss.”

“No trouble.” She throws a wink at Dean before turning away, and the dog just lingers a moment trying to snuffle at Sam’s legs before trotting off behind her master. 

Dean can’t wipe the grin off his face as he steers Sam back towards the restaurant, huffing out a little laugh. “Man, what are you, five?”

Sam huffs and bumps Dean with his hip and that’s the end of that, but Dean shoots his brother a couple amused grins through their meal, anyways. No replacement for a bit of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. One-Hundred Eighty-Six: Raccoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks it’s a puppy, at first. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Sam’s come home with a stray dog in tow, even if this one seems significantly fluffier than its predecessors. Sam’s got the thing all curled up in his arms when he toddles in through the door and Dean barely opens his mouth before his brother stumbles to explain.
> 
> “I promise he’s friendly!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby raccoons are really cute, okay?

Dean thinks it’s a puppy, at first. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Sam’s come home with a stray dog in tow, even if this one seems significantly fluffier than its predecessors. Sam’s got the thing all curled up in his arms when he toddles in through the door and Dean barely opens his mouth before his brother stumbles to explain.

“I promise he’s friendly!”

That’s when Dean spots the ringed tail, the little black hands that match the dark fur around its eyes. Big round ears and a pointed nose, and Dean’s looking at a little baby raccoon bundled up against Sam’s chest. It seems to have formed an attachment, too- the little fingers are curled tight in Sam’s shirt, and it doesn’t seem to want to leave.

“Sammy,” Dean says slowly, ‘cause he’s not really sure how he’s supposed to deal with this, “we talked about taking home strays, right?”

Sam gets that stubborn little pout and juts his chin out and hugs his new friend a little tighter. The raccoon’s whiskers twitch and it curls closer to him. “Only dogs and cats, though!”

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Tries to remember if Sam’s got a rabies vaccine. “You can’t just take home a wild animal, kiddo.” Pauses a moment and lets his eyes drop down to the raccoon again. “He’s probably got a family that missed him, y'know? Just like I’d miss you if a stranger brought you home.”

It turns his stomach to even think about, but it has the full desired effect. Sam looks confused, then sad, then a little guilty as he looks down at his companion. “They miss him?”

“I bet they love him a lot.” Dean manages a small smile as he finally heads over a little closer. The raccoon doesn’t seem scared, anyways. “So you can’t steal him away, right?”

Sam looks like he’s thinking real hard for a minute, then nods solemnly. “He’s gotta go back home, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Dean smiles properly now and glances to the door. “So how ‘bout you show me where you found him, and we can bring him home, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sam nods again, more confident now, even as he hugs the raccoon a little tighter. “M'sorry I stole him.”

“It’s okay,” Dean promises with a half-smile. “He probably wanted to spend time with you, too. But now he’s just gotta go back home.”

Another nod, and Sam turns to lead him out the door again, raccoon in tow. “'Kay, Dean! We’ll take him home!”

Dean chuckles to himself and shakes his head, following his little brother back towards the forest their motel backs onto. If he had a dollar for every time Sammy brought home something cute and fluffy-

Well, maybe he’d be able to buy one they could keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. One-Hundred Eighty-Seven: Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hasn’t been this scared for his brother’s life since he nearly lost it hunting that rawhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from the anonymous prompt "for any reason at all: Dean needing blood transfusion, no hospital, Sam does it". 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't know how to do a blood transfusion, and all of this was taken from my memories of another fic (Brother's Blood) and then some imagination.

The world seems unusually quiet outside of the car’s windows. It stands still along either side of lonely asphalt, endless miles that stretch on too far for the frantic pace of Sam’s heart and the amount of blood that Dean’s already lost. It’s the dead of night and nothing else is moving, the Impala’s purr the only background noise to the race they’re making towards civilization.

Sam hasn’t been this scared for his brother’s life since he nearly lost it hunting that rawhead. A wendigo cut him deep- must’ve hit something important, ‘cause he’s bleeding bright red and hasn’t stopped since he went down in the first place. Barely conscious anymore; he’s slumped in the passenger’s seat, too pale and eyes half-open and mumbling about being too slow with his flare gun.

Sam spares half a glance towards the map he’s got on the seat between them. They’ve just passed mile twenty-eight and they won’t hit town for another thirty minutes. No hospital there, either; probably just a walk-in clinic.

Dean doesn’t have that kind of time left, though, and Sam makes a decision.

They’re alone on the highway and it’s easy to pull off to the shoulder, with no room to worry about who might drive by and see. Sam’s already busy doing a mental inventory, fumbling his seatbelt out of the way so he can get to the trauma kits they keep in the back. Hasn’t had to touch one in months and now he’s opening the door and gripping the frame of the car on his way to the trunk, trying to remember if he’s got what he needs.

He knows he’s got the same blood type as his brother. It won’t be the first time they’ve had to share.

“Just hold on,” he mumbles as he digs through the trunk. Dean probably can’t hear him, even if he’s still conscious enough to pay attention. Sam figures it’s more for his own benefit. “Gonna fix you up, Dean. S’gonna be fine.”

Dean’s incoherent when Sam returns to the front seat, hauling the first aid kit with him. His brother’s eyes are closed, lips parted and a little too close to turning blue. His skin’s too pale and his breathing is too shallow, and Sam doesn’t even want to think about all the blood soaking into his shirt and the leather seats.

That’s the first step, though, so he swallows down the panic and gets to work.

The shirt’s a lost cause, so it goes down to a quick run of the knife he’s got handy, hardly more than a rag now. Dean’s quiet and complacent and moves without any resistance when Sam lays him down across the front bench seat to get a better look at what he’s dealing with. 

The wounds are deep, even once he wipes the blood clean away. They’re still oozing and Sam’s fingers slip against crimson-slicked skin as he closes them up, needle and thread as neat as he can manage in the time limit he knows he’s got. Dean’s past the point of painkillers and alcohol isn’t going to do anything but make this worse, and he only lets out tiny sounds, anyways, just enough to tell Sam he’s still around.

The gauze comes next, packed up on top of everything to keep it in place and keep it inside. It’s easier than the sutures but Sam’s hands are still shaking with the knowledge of what comes next. Feels like he’s putting it off so he tries to hurry, throwing a nervous glance at the road. Still empty. No one’s going to drive by while he’s doing this. He’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

“Still with me?” he asks softly, securing the bandages, and only gets a wordless mumble in response. “It’s gonna be okay, Dean. Promise. You’re not goin’ anywhere yet.”

And then the easy part’s over and Sam barely lets his eyes slide over towards the little kit that still sits in its bag.

Needles and tubes, mostly. Been a decade since their dad taught them to do this- emergency field med, marine-level shit, nothing they’ve ever done for real. The sort of  _“you should know how it works”_  theory for when Dad would patch one of them up, not the other way around. But Dean’s dying and he’s still losing blood and there’s nothing else Sam can do, so he takes a deep breath and grabs the alcohol wipes and gets to work.

The hardest part is holding himself steady for the needle. Dean’s barely responsive now and he doesn’t even tense up when Sam slides the thing into his arm, but his own is trickier and he misses the first time. His hands are shaking so bad that he needs to stop and close his eyes and hold his brother’s hand, cold and clammy as it is, to try to center himself, to remind himself that he knows how to do this. He knows how to fix this. There’s no other way to end this than with Dean being okay, and this is what he needs to do in order to get there.

It’s a little easier to get himself hooked up after that.

There’s a tube that connects them and some setup to play with and it all goes by in a blur. Sam’s down to working with one hand and then he’s crawling back into the car, sitting curled against Dean as best he’s able while the blood starts to work its way through the tubing. It’s sort of surreal, watching it move from his arm into Dean’s- dizzying to watch himself literally pouring life back into his brother- but that’s when he knows it’s working and all that’s left to do is wait.

Sam doesn’t keep track of time, but Dean’s eyes open a little while after sunset, slow and sleepy. He looks like he doesn’t know where he is and Sam feels like he’s on a cloud, probably giving a little too much for his own good but unable to bring himself to stop. His heart’s beating for two right now and that’s what matters. They’ve always been two halves of a whole and there’s something poetic about it being brought into a state of physicality.

“S’mmy?” Dean mumbles, and that’s conscious enough for now. If Sam knows anything, it’s that his brother will kill him if he damages the car, so he reaches for his phone with the hand he can still feel and starts dialling slowly, three numbers that everyone’s supposed to know by heart. “S’goin’ on?”

“S’gonna be okay, Dean.” Sam rests his head against the window and brings the phone up a little higher, lets his eyes slip shut while the operator asks about his emergency. They’re alive enough to make it to town, now, but he figures they’re gonna need a little help. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Dean’s hand is still too cold, but Sam finds it and holds on tight. He’s sure the paramedics won’t mind if they find him sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. One-Hundred Eighty-Eight: Photograph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The photo is the only constant in Dean’s wallet. Money, credit cards, even identification- it all comes and goes, left behind along with small towns and ratty motels and every relationship he’s ever had. The photo, though- the photo doesn’t change. The photo has always been there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt (sent by wildest-dreems): "HI ME AGAIN pls tell me if u want me to slow down with the prompts but wincest with Dean having an off day where he for some reason is thinking of Mary and maybe he cries and maybe Sam comforts him idk this is utter shit I'm sorry I'm having Dean and Mary feels"
> 
> So... Dean and Mary feels. And also brother feels.

The photo is the only constant in Dean’s wallet. Money, credit cards, even identification- it all comes and goes, left behind along with small towns and ratty motels and every relationship he’s ever had. The photo, though- the photo doesn’t change. The photo has always been there.

Weathered at the corners, stored with the utmost care; he rarely even pulls it out to look at for fear of causing it some kind of damage. Just the knowledge of its presence is enough to keep him going, some days, but- but, well, some days are hard, and sometimes the echo of her smile is the only thing that works.

She was his constant companion in the months after Stanford. Looking for Dad, he needed to take moments to himself, away from Sam, to sneak in a glance every now and then. And now it’s-

Now Dad’s gone, too, and Dean doesn’t know what to do anymore.

He’s by himself in the room until he suddenly isn’t, hunched over on the edge of his bed with the photo cradled carefully between his fingers. He doesn’t even really feel a connection with the young boy smiling up at him- his childhood is so disconnected from his current reality that it feels like another life altogether. Not that it really matters; all of Dean’s attention is on his mother’s face.

She’s beautiful, the way she always is when he looks at her like this. Smiling and warm, something twisting up in Dean’s chest just with the sparkle in her eyes. He imagines he can hear her laughing, singing to him, fingers pushing through his hair and lips pressed tenderly to his forehead and-

“Dean, hey.” Sam’s voice comes soft and concerned, and Dean startles, fingers going tight where they are as he glances up towards his brother. Sam’s just entered the room, dropping his jacket and heading right over and- “What’s wrong?”

Dean doesn’t realize he’s crying, not until Sam reaches out absently and catches a tear with his fingertips. It seems to hit him all at once, then- losing Mom, losing Dad. Losing the two people who raised him, who cared for him, who loved him. His parents. They’re never coming back, stolen away by the same twisted world, and it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of his chest.

Sam’s there, though. Sam takes the spot next to him and doesn’t so much as hesitate before pulling him into a tight hug. This isn’t something they  _do,_ not really, but Sam’s the only family he’s got now and Dean feels no shame in turning and burying his face in his brother’s shoulder. He’s still got the picture in his hands and he can see her face on the backs of his eyelids, see her with their dad when the two of them were together. They were happy. They were  _alive._

“They’re gone,” Dean mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut a little tighter. Sam’s arms pull him in closer and it’s as close to comfort as he needs right now. “They- they’re gone, Sammy. Both of them.”

“I know.” Sam’s hand cups the back of Dean’s head, keeps him tucked right up against his little brother’s body. “They- I know, Dean, but we’re here, okay? You and me. We’re still here.”

Dean feels like a little kid all over again but Sam’s  _right._ He’s here with his brother and they’re ready to face the world together, to stand up tall and make their parents proud. To finish the mission that their father started twenty-three years ago and end all of this. 

To make it all worth it.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, and carefully, delicately slips the photo back into his wallet. His arms snake around Sam’s waist at the soonest opportunity and hold on tight, savouring this moment for all it’s worth. “Yeah, we are.”

They’re still here, and by God, Dean is going to keep it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. One-Hundred Eighty-Nine: Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s sort of fascinating to watch Sam move when they finally reach the beach. He’s slow and careful and he lingers in a way he doesn’t everywhere else, and Jessica can’t take her eyes off him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SamJess. <3

It’s sort of fascinating to watch Sam move when they finally reach the beach. He’s slow and careful and he lingers in a way he doesn’t everywhere else, and Jessica can’t take her eyes off him.

They’ve only been dating for a couple weeks, now, but after he’d admitted (under maybe a  _little_ bit of duress) that he’d never been to the ocean- well, there was no way she could let him move on in life without that kind of experience under his belt. “I thought you said you moved around a lot as a kid?”

“I did.” Sam’s not looking at her, though- his eyes are on his bare feet, toes curling in the sand like he’s never felt anything like it before, and hey; maybe he hasn’t. “Never made it to the coast before, though. Guess the work wasn’t as good.”

She still doesn’t know what, exactly, his dad does for a living. It always feels like they’re talking in circles when it comes to his past, and it hasn’t taken long for her to learn that it’s a bit of a taboo. She knows he has a brother, she knows they travelled for their dad’s work, and she knows that Sam’s become estranged from them as of late. It’s worrisome, but she knows when to leave well enough alone.

So instead of lingering on that- instead of asking about the wistful, distant look on Sam’s face or the evasive answer she’s just been given- Jessica moves forwards again, pushes her hair out of her eyes before reaching out to take one of Sam’s hands, offering him a smile when he finally looks at her.

“C’mon, we came all the way here,” she reminds him. “And I’ve got my new swimsuit, remember?” 

A playful wink and she’s got him smiling for real, and that’s what matters for now. Maybe she’ll never really unravel the mystery that is Sam Winchester, not completely. She’ll take what she can get, though, in order to chase her ever-growing need to be near this incredible, wonderful, beautiful, brilliant boy. 

Right now, what she can get is Sam holding her hand while they walk down to the water’s edge. It’s big and warm and rough, and she squeezes a little tighter.

What she can get is more than enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. One-Hundred Ninety: Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn’t sleep much while Dean is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Gadreel.

Sam doesn’t sleep much while Dean is gone. He thinks it’s a combination of things- worry, anger, hurt. Fear of whatever will be waiting at the backs of his eyelids. He’s had trouble with nightmares his entire life, and doesn’t doubt that Kevin’s death will have a starring role soon enough, as well.

What really gets him, though, is the panic tied to losing control.

It’s scary- terrifying- to think that if he closes his eyes, he’ll be surrendering his control. Handing the reins over to his unconscious mind; a stranger. He hates the thought that he will continue to  _exist_ while he’s asleep and unaware- that he won’t be present to take care of himself and his body. He’ll be curling up in the back of his head to rest while the world continues on, while  _he_ continues on, whether he’s there to experience it or not.

It reminds him a little too much of being possessed.

So he stays awake. He blinks the exhaustion out of his eyes, clings to caffeine as a substitute for sleep. Castiel seems concerned, but he stays quiet, probably worried about other things.

He’s fine. He’s doing okay without Dean, and without sleep. He just needs to learn how not to close his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. One-Hundred Ninety-One: Jacket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dude, c'mon. We’re in LA. It’s like a million degrees out there. I don’t need a jacket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the anonymous prompt "Prompt! :) how about something about J2 and Saturn Awards? because Jensen looked too good to just let it go :)"
> 
> Just a little J2 thing.

Jared huffs a little but otherwise stays still as Jensen straightens his outfit. They’re just about ready to go, but it wouldn’t be a red carpet event if they didn’t spend a little extra time dressing up- or rather, if Jensen didn’t spend a little time dressing the both of them. “Dude, c'mon. We’re in LA. It’s like a million degrees out there. I don’t need a jacket.”

“It’ll be air-conditioned inside,” Jensen replies absently, and Jared makes a face as he watches Jensen finish up. A pat to the chest and he straightens up, giving Jared his usual appraising once-over before nodding his approval. “The jacket looks good. You look good.”

Jared can’t help a grin, then, because- “You always say that,” he teases. “And as if you’d let me go anywhere with you if I didn’t.”

“You do alright all by yourself.” Jensen’s smiling too, now, and he just reaches up to run a hand through his own hair before focusing again. “C'mon, we should go. Don’t want to keep Eric waiting, right?”

“Guess not.” Jared pauses, hums, then leans down and gives Jensen a quick peck on the lips, just to see him smile again. “Now we’re ready. Let’s go. Got some cameras to impress, right?”

Jensen laughs and lets Jared lead him out, and- well, it’s LA. He’s already sweating. Totally worth it to make Jensen happy, though, and he figures he can just grin and bear it for a few hours.

The smiles from Jensen are definitely worth the exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. One-Hundred Ninety-Two: Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen can’t remember the last time they were apart for this long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: "Hi. J2 is my happy place. Pretty sure their love powers the sun. But sometimes I worry they might have actual separation anxiety. Reunion sex prompt. Sometimes desperate & frantic & rough. Sometimes reverent & shivering & tender. Jensen in tears either way."

Jensen can’t remember the last time they were apart for this long. Between living and working together, it feels, sometimes, like he and Jared are physically attached at the hip- something they get teased for enough that it’s just become something to smile about. 

But Jensen picked up another project this summer- another cheesy horror movie; might as well take the work when his schedule allows it- and most of the filming ended up happening abroad. It’s not like he’s gone a single day without talking to Jared on the phone or video-calling, but he’d never really appreciated how different that is from being face-to-face until suddenly he’s aching for the other man’s touch after weeks gone without it.

Coming back to Austin is something of a blur. He doesn’t sleep on the flight; can’t so much as think about trying when he’s so anxious to get home. Jared’s waiting for him somewhere 40,000 feet below the plane and Jensen doesn’t think he’ll be able to settle until they’re together again. So he fumbles through the airport and grabs a taxi back home and he’s holding his breath when he finally opens the door, doesn’t know what to expect but-

“Jensen.” But Jared’s right there and Jensen feels the tension physically seep out of him as he’s gathered up into a suffocating hug. He just responds by weaving his arms around Jared’s middle and holding him just as tight, barely clinging to his bags as he’s half-dragged inside. He can hear the dogs barking out back, and he’s sure they’ve missed him, too, but- “S’been too damn long.”

And when Jared starts tugging him upstairs, it’s all Jensen can do to drop his bags on the spot and follow after him.

They don’t talk, really. They go into the bedroom and then Jared’s turning towards him again, takes a deep breath before his hands settle on Jensen’s hips. “I missed you,” he whispers, and he looks like he’s going to say more but Jensen’s been waiting too long for this so he just stretches up on his tip-toes and presses their lips together, eyes slipping shut as he soaks up what he’s been missing for weeks. 

Jared’s the one who leads them towards the bed but they start getting clothes out of the way together, fingertips fumbling for buttons and zippers. Jared’s skin is like salvation under Jensen’s touch and he isn’t shy about seeking it out, running his hands up the flat plane of Jared’s stomach and to his chest before his shirt’s even off. It earns him a breathy laugh that tastes like sunshine and something whole, and there’s no space between their pants coming off and Jensen climbing into Jared’s lap on the edge of the bed.

“I missed you,” Jensen whispers, and echo of Jared’s words as he reaches up to comb his fingers through the other man’s hair. Softer than he remembers and he lingers there, takes in every detail of Jared’s face. “God, missed you so much.”

“I know.” Their foreheads meet and for that moment they’re just breathing each other in, drinking in all the proximity that they’ve been missing. Skin against skin, something intimate and fragile that’s already started to repair the hurt caused by their separation. “S’okay. You’re here now.”

That’s what matters, really. That’s all that’s important now, and Jensen just nods a bit as Jared shifts underneath him, pulls him down close so they can get more comfortable in bed. The lube’s handy like it always is and Jensen shifts up onto his knees a little, closes his eyes before he drops his head down onto Jared’s shoulder. It should feel like a routine, but instead it’s more like worship when a slicked fingertip finds his hole and starts rubbing it soft. Jensen hasn’t had anything since he left but it’s always been easy to relax when Jared’s touching him, so he breathes out slow and lets the finger slip inside.

They don’t rush things. For a while, that’s all it is- Jared’s finger pumping in and out of him, steady and gentle. Jensen rocks with it a little bit because he needs to, can’t not chase the stretch and full feeling. One turns into two and there’s an edge of not-quite-pain with the stretch, but it’s okay because Jared’s there, holding him close, murmuring in low tones about how much he loves him. It’s everything he’s been missing, and Jensen barely notices the third finger slip inside because it matches Jared’s tongue in his mouth moments later, both feelings working to take him apart from the inside out.

“You ready?” Jared whispers into their kiss, and Jensen barely manages to nod. Thinks he’d be content to spend an eternity just like this but he can feel Jared’s cock against his stomach, the hot length of it insistent and temping, and there’s no way he can refuse when he’s been aching for it, too.

Jensen moves up onto his knees and lets Jared get himself lined up before he’s sliding down and- and that’s  _it_ , that’s where he needs to be, moaning all breathless as he’s finally filled up properly. Jared holds him through every inch, arms tight around Jensen’s middle and they’re both panting, gasping for breath together while they work through this delicate, tender  _thing._

He doesn’t know when his eyes close but they open again when Jared cups his cheek, tilts his head up for a softer kiss. There’s no rush because they’re finally  _together_ , finally whole again the way they’re supposed to be- two halves of a soul that never feel right existing as separate beings, as close as they can get to becoming one.

They start rocking together as one, arms locked around each other’s bodies and moving towards their combined pleasure. Jensen ducks down to press his forehead into the curve of Jared’s neck, breathes in the familiar scent of skin and clean sweat that’s distinctly  _Jared_ , mumbles affection against the feeling of the world’s most important heartbeat and surrenders himself entirely to the physical.

It’s a haze of sensation; of skin on skin and the feeling of being entirely overwhelmed by another person’s being. Jensen welcomes it; opens his arms wide to accept Jared into himself in every way he can. They’re chasing orgasm together and it’s all-consuming, tears in his eyes between every strain and pressure on his body. Too much and not enough; knows it won’t be until he’s able to crawl right into Jared’s chest and make himself a home.

For now, though, this will have to do.

Jensen’s grip tightens and his breath hitches when he’s hit with his climax, slow and deep as he as arches up hard against Jared. Jared’s movements don’t cease, and he can barely make out the breathy “love you” just before Jared’s coming apart underneath him. They hold on tight and ride it out together, stuttered little movements and shivering pleasure that overwhelms them both.

There’s no telling how much time passes, but Jensen’s still in Jared’s arms when he comes back, lips parted in quick little pants. There’s a mess between them and he doesn’t care; doesn’t care about much of anything right now except staying close to his other half. Jared seems to feel the same way because his grip hasn’t loosened any, and soon he’s moving them to lie down, Jensen remaining pressed tight against his chest.

“Love you, too,” Jensen mumbles, tucking his head up under Jared’s chin. He gets a low hum in response and knows that they probably both need some rest- no way they’ve been getting the sleep they need while they’ve been apart.

Things are okay now, though, and that’s the thought that’s got him drifting off properly for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. One-Hundred Ninety-Three: Uncomfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s never asked why Dean is home so often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was having some thoughts about Dean being... socially uncomfortable. And. Yes.

Sam’s never asked why Dean is home so often. He’s a senior in high school, should be hanging out with his classmates, going to parties, living it up while he can. Not like there’s anything he can do wrong- a new town every month means he doesn’t need to worry much about making bad impressions. Instead, he tends to hang around the motel- tends to hang around  _Sam_ , actually, to be specific, and Sam seems happy enough with the arrangement not to question it too much.

It’s just that.

Dean feels like he doesn’t really  _get_ people. It’s easy to put on a show when he’s on a hunt, or when he’s talking the motel manager into letting them stay a couple extra nights, but- but people are hard. People are complex and scary, a maze that Dean doesn’t know how to navigate without getting hurt.

Sammy is easy. Sammy, he knows. Sammy is  _safe_.

But that’s where the line is drawn, because no one else feels the way Sam does. No one gets him like Sam does, and everyone else is just- just too much. Too deep and too different and too many things to worry about. Feelings to hurt and lives to affect.

So instead, he stays with Sam. Sam who Dean knows, and Sam who knows Dean.

Sam is okay. People are hard, but- but Sam isn’t. Sam gets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. One-Hundred Ninety-Four: Migraine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s gotten awful good at ignoring the headaches over the years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous prompt: "Sam and Dean on a hunt when Dean gets hit with a migraine omg pls"

Dean’s gotten awful good at ignoring the headaches over the years. Figures it’s just a part of the job; he’s got a pretty high-stress lifestyle, and it’s natural that his head feels like it wants to split in two every now and then. Never mentions it to his dad, or Sam; he’s not supposed to show weakness, and he knows he can do his job without being inhibited. That’s the important part, anyways- as long as he can slip away and suffer in silence for a couple hours, he’s fine. He’s good.

Or- well, he’s good right up until he’s suddenly hunting with Sam again, after months of going at it alone. He’s hunting with Sam and maybe it’s all the damn screaming. Some fucking banshee down south and it’s- it’s kind of starting to get to him, and of course he recognizes the warning signs. ‘Course he does. Been living with this shit as long as he can remember but they’re out deep in the forest trying to track the thing down and he doesn’t have  _time_ for this.

Trying to speed up only makes it worse, though. His hands are starting to tremble with the effort of holding onto his machete, it’s hard to keep his eyes open- broad fucking daylight; even with the way the sunlight disperses around the leaves, it’s too much- and more than anything, he’d really like to just curl up into a ball and cover his ears and maybe cry a little or something-

“You good?” But Sam sounds concerned and that’s not what Dean wants at all, so he tries to straighten up a little, even out his expression. “Want some water?”

“M’good.” It’s hard to keep a straight face and it’s just making the headache worse, like jackhammers against his skull. He can’t see straight anymore. “S’just- nothin’, I’m fine.”

That’s when he manages to stumble over his own damn feet, all sense of equilibrium lost with the pounding in his head. Swears as he goes down and barely manages to avoid stabbing himself on the way, and Sam’s right there a moment later, eyes a little wide. “S’fine, I’m- fuck.” ‘Cause suddenly he feels kind of like he’s going to puke, and curling up into that ball sounds real nice all of a sudden.

“Dean, tell me what’s wrong.” Sam sounds scared but at least he’s speaking low and soft. Dean doesn’t know how much more he can manage right now. “Let me help you.”

Dean takes a moment to swallow down whatever’s trying to rise in his throat and mumbles a half-response, shame starting to creep in. “S’just- just a stupid headache. Get ‘em sometimes, it’s- it’s not a big deal.”

Sam’s quiet for a moment, but then Dean hears him rustling around in his backpack. Closes his eyes because it helps a little and then his brother’s pressing something cool into his hands. Water bottle.

“I don’t have any ice,” Sam tells him, even quieter. Dean appreciates thought. “But the water’s cold. Press it against your head. Supposed to help with migraines.” A moment of silence before he continues. “You never mentioned you got them.”

Dean just shrugs and opts out of responding to that. A conversation for another time. The cool water  _does_ help, though, brings the throbbing down to something more dull and less painful, and he feels like he can finally maybe breathe again. “Thanks.”

“We’re gonna talk about this when we get home, okay?” Sam doesn’t say anything else, but he offers Dean a hand up when he stands. “C’mon. I know how much you love killing banshees.”

Sam’s right about a whole lot of things today, it seems. Dean grabs his hand and stands up and thinks maybe the conversation won’t be so bad, after all. Sam’s good about this kind of stuff.

(Sam’s also good at finding him banshees to kill. It’s a good system.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. One-Hundred Ninety-Five: Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mowing lawns is far from glamorous work, but it gives Dean the opportunity for some pocket change and gets him spending his time doing something useful instead of just laying around the motel room all summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers!!

Mowing lawns is far from glamorous work, but it gives Dean the opportunity for some pocket change and gets him spending his time doing something useful instead of just laying around the motel room all summer. Not that the motel room sounds unappealing right now; the AC might be shitty, but at least it functions. Between the sun beating down on the back of his neck and the humid air that barely makes it to his lungs, he feels like he’s sweating out his entire being, even now that he’s abandoned his shirt somewhere by the sidewalk.

One lawn left, though, and he’ll be all done for the day, so he breathes in a lungful of mostly-liquid air and pushes on, praying that he’ll make it through this without turning completely lobster-coloured.

“Dean! How much longer?”

He doesn’t expect his little brother to come running by. He’s pretty sure he left Sam reading some book back at the motel, but when he glances up and wipes the sweat from his brow- yeah, that’s Sam, half-jogging over with a couple bottles of water and colour in his cheeks from the exertion. His first instinct is to tell the kid to go find some shade, but his throat suddenly feels like a desert landscape and he reaches out gratefully for one of the bottles, instead, doesn’t even get a word out before he’s downing half of it in one go.

“Almost done?” Sam asks again once Dean’s finished rehydrating. He’s rocking back and forth on his feet and Dean’s at a loss for how he has any energy at all in this heat. “We could go to the pool, after.”

“Jus’ one more, Sammy.” Dean manages a smile and pushes a hand through his hair, expression turning to a grimace at how sweat-slicked it is. “Then we’ll go cool, off, okay?”

And Sam really does look like he means to respond, but then there’s a faint whirring sound that gets louder, gets faster- and suddenly the sprinklers are turning on, and Dean lets out a little yelp as he’s hit with a splash of cool water.

He hadn’t been warned about the sprinkles being on a timer, and for a moment, Dean’s almost annoyed, except. Except that the water feels kind of really fucking nice right now, and he doesn’t even try to hide the little smile that grows on his face. Glances at Sam before he’s reaching out and grabbing his brother’s arm and tugging him closer. “Or we could cool off right here, huh?”

Sam’s eyes go wide and he gives a little shriek when he gets a splash of his own, but then he’s laughing, following Dean into the rotation of the spray until they’re both getting good and wet, chasing the water as it arcs over the lawn. It’s a relief in the pounding heat, and Dean feels like he can breathe again for the first time in hours, his body temperature finally dropping from the peak it’d been doing its best to hit.

And so they dance in their little rainshower, taking the moment while they can. Dean knows he needs to finish if he wants his fifteen bucks, and Sam’s clothes are getting soaked, and they’ll need to figure out dinner eventually, but- but for now, it’s easy to just  _be._ Summertime is existing in the moment, and there’s no better moment in which to exist than this one, right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. One-Hundred Ninety-Six: Cheating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary holds her tongue and sneaks out without a word, and John will never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This stems from a thought I had about Mary unconsciously trying to rebel against Heaven's plans for her. And... yep.

In hindsight, Mary doesn’t even really remember what led her here; what led her to waking up in a strange man’s bed while John thinks she’s spending a night with her family. She can’t recall the train of thought that took her to the bar, that landed her in a situation where she decided that it was okay to flirt with another man. 

She remembers the determination. How vital it’d suddenly been to be with- with  _someone_ , anyone but John. Doesn’t know how or why, but it’d felt important, life-or-death the way everything used to be. Like there was some  _purpose_ to cheating on the man who’s sure to be her fiancé soon. Like she’d been trying to accomplish something.

Now, though- now she just feels sick. Like she’s ruined something; like her life has shattered before her eyes every time she tries to picture John’s face, should he find out about this.

So he doesn’t.

Mary holds her tongue and sneaks out without a word, and John will never know. 

It’s almost too easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. One-Hundred Ninety-Seven: For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s an accident, the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery Spot ruins me.

It’s an accident, the first time. Force of habit to order two meals for the two bodies Sam’s used to feeding, even with his mindless drifting in the aftermath of losing Dean. Bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and by the time it hits him that there’s no one around to eat it now, the waitress is already walking away and his chest is too tight to try calling her back. He can’t stomach his own food between the empty space opposite him and the quiet, pitying looks he gets from the other people in the diner, and he ends up walking away from two untouched plates.

After that, though, it becomes intentional, and something hardens in Sam’s heart the second time he orders a meal for someone who isn’t here. He stares at the unoccupied seat across from him and eats his food mechanically, gears whirring low and quick in the back of his head as Dean’s food gets cold.

There’s one monster between him and his big brother, a hundred Tuesdays and the wrong Wednesday and a score left to settle. His aimlessness turns into sharp focus and when he makes it back to his motel, he begins his hunt.

It’s not like he’s got anything left to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. One-Hundred Ninety-Eight: Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> his heart is a broken machine-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Erase", by The Chainsmokers. "My heart is a broken machine" is a line that just makes me feel things.
> 
> This is supposed to be about Dean, but like. Who knows, honestly?

his heart is a broken machine-  
all manners of rusty gears and missing parts  
to match the bits he’s lost along the way.

(nothing vital because he’s still standing. everything important because he’s hollow.)

slip-slide of blood between his fingers; copper tang on his tongue like life and death side-by-side  
and haven’t they always been that way? in that special eternity between heaven and hell?

(duct tape and safety pins, she says, as if sam’s the one who doesn’t work right.)

a patchwork of promises and white lies stained crimson-  
his road is paved with the best of intentions.

 

_and maybe broken is the way he was always meant to be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. One-Hundred Ninety-Nine: Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s unbelievable enough that Sam’s fumbled himself into a relationship with Mr. Smith. Always figured the guy was too far out of his league; not to mention his tax bracket. That doesn’t seem to matter to call-me-Dean, though, who smiles big when he’s excited and has freckles dusted all across his cheekbones and loves playing with Sam’s hair when they cuddle. He’s everything Sam never expected him to be, and the thought of it sends butterflies through Sam’s stomach each time it crosses his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love me some Swesson.

“Hey, you got a minute?”

It’s unbelievable enough that Sam’s fumbled himself into a relationship with Mr. Smith. Always figured the guy was too far out of his league; not to mention his tax bracket. That doesn’t seem to matter to call-me-Dean, though, who smiles big when he’s excited and has freckles dusted all across his cheekbones and loves playing with Sam’s hair when they cuddle. He’s everything Sam never expected him to be, and the thought of it sends butterflies through Sam’s stomach each time it crosses his mind.

What’s more unbelievable, though, is that Dean misses him so much throughout the day that he sees fit to make his way all the way down to Tech Support to say hello.

“Uh- yeah, of course.” Sam slips off his headset and pretends like he doesn’t feel the dozens of eyes on them as he stands, his fellow worker bees too nosy about all the visits he gets from their director of sales and marketing. He sticks out like a sore thumb in the slacks and suit jacket, but the staring doesn’t seem to faze him one bit. “You want some coffee?”

Sam lets Dean lead him to the break room and tries not to show the way he wants to shield him from curious and hungry eyes. Maybe it’s a little hint of the protectiveness that’s grown ever since they first met, but he knows how companies like this are. Too many politics in the building and too many people who might want to hurt Dean to get ahead. He shoves that back when they reach the coffee machine and then Dean’s turning to face him and Sam can’t stop himself from smiling.

“How goes the battle?” Dean asks him with his head tilted a little. Leans back against the counter like he belongs there with the coffee stains and cheap linoleum. “I miss anything good?”

“Do you ever?” Sam huffs a laugh, actually reaches to put on some coffee. Might as well grab it while he’s here, right? “You having a good day?”

A shrug, and then Sam’s being tugged in close by his belt loops and Dean’s kissing him, short and sweet. Tastes like peppermint. “Better now.”

Sam smiles and rests a hand on Dean’s hip when they kiss again. Not like anyone’s around to see them. “Good.”

It goes on for a few seconds, a brief reprieve from the monotony of his cubicle position, and then Dean’s pager is buzzing and there are phones ringing and they never have enough time for this at work.

Dean sighs, doesn’t move very far when he pulls away. “I’ve got a meeting. Guess I should go.”

“Yeah.” Sam sneaks in one last kiss, just because. “Go. Knock ‘em dead. See you at home?”

Dean smiles and nods and squeezes his hand one last time, and then he’s hurrying over towards the elevator while Sam’s coffee starts to percolate. Sam watches him go along with every other employee within eyeshot, and can’t stop smiling as he heads back to his chair to slog through the last few hours of work.

Unexpected is as good as it gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Two-Hundred: a leaf on the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i wish to be a leaf on the ground –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a quote in Fran Bow: "sometimes I wish to be a leaf on the ground. Calm while dying."
> 
> Season three, man.

_sometimes i wish to be a leaf on the ground –_

and you think, maybe, that it would be easier that way. if you could just let go; just flash a grin and kick some ass and  _live_ in your last eight months. if you could drink in the world in its entirety while you’re still here to appreciate it instead of. instead of.

this.

instead of the nightmares. instead of the fear. instead of the looking at your little brother every second he isn’t looking at you, ‘cause you’ve spent a whole lot of time imagining hell and every single version of it is void of his smile. you burn it into your memory and pray that it will stay. ain’t a damn chance you’re gonna let yourself forget.

they can take everything else. just not sam.

and so maybe it’d be better to let it happen and sit back and enjoy the ride, but all you can think about is losing him. of living out your eternity without your partner by your side, and.

and maybe he’s scared of losing you, too.

there’s no happy ending waiting for you, and should that be so easy to forget?

_–calm while dying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Two-Hundred One: Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filming days are always long days, but they feel even longer all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J2 things. Cute things?

Filming days are always long days, but they feel even longer all alone. Not that Jared’s the only person on set- far from- but Jensen is very absent, still down in Texas while they work through Sam’s coverage for the start of the season. It’s heavy stuff, hard to film without Dean to play off of, and it’s taken its toll on his energy levels. By the time he gets home, he’s exhausted, just managing a weary smile at Clif as he’s given another quick “happy birthday, man,” out the window before he drives away.

He’s looking forward to his bed, more than anything. It doesn’t even really occur to him that he might get interrupted on his way there, but- well, sure enough, his phone rings just as he’s toeing his shoes off his feet, and the ringtone is enough to tell him exactly who’s calling.

“Jen.” Tired or not, he can’t help the smile on his face as he starts up towards his bedroom. “Hey, man.”

“Jared!” And Jared smiles even bigger, then, ‘cause Jensen sounds excited and- and a little tipsy, maybe. “Happy birthday! Did you- did you see my tweet? I did one for you. For your birthday, Jared. I did a tweet.”

“I saw.” He has to laugh a little, hearing the pride in Jensen’s voice. “I love you, too.”

A pleased little huff on the other line, and Jared makes it to his room, shuts the door behind him. A little empty without Jensen here, but the sounds of his breathing through the phone is nice. “S'that why you gave me a kiss?”

He sounds smug, and Jared doesn’t know what he’s talking about until- “You saw my tweet, then, huh?”

Jensen- Jensen giggles. Straight-up giggles, and yeah, he’s definitely been drinking a little. “Gotta tell everyone now?”

“Nah, just you.” It’s easier to humour him when he’s like this, and Jensen’s cute when he gets excited about this stuff. “Got a real one for you once you get your ass up here.”

Jensen hums like he’s thinking about that, snorts out another laugh, and then lowers his voice like he’s trying to sound serious. Jared starts shuffling around for his pyjamas.

“Got a lot more for you then a kiss, big boy.” Soft and sultry and then he breaks out into another fit of giggles and Jared can only grin. “You- you got some birthday sex due.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Jared laughs softly, shakes his head while Jensen settles on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’m wiped. You’re drunk. How ‘bout we call it a night, and you catch a plane to Canada when you get the chance?”

A big, dramatic sigh, and Jared sits down on his mattress to take off his socks. “Fine. You- you’re no fun.” A brief pause. “Wait, I can’t say that. S'your birthday. You’re the best and I love you. Love you lots.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jared’s smile goes soft and he aches for a moment for the distance between Vancouver and Austin. “Love you, Jen. Miss you.”

They hang up soon after that, with Jensen mumbling another birthday wish before Jared’s crawling into bed. Another early morning tomorrow, but he’s feeling a lot better about the whole thing now. He falls asleep smiling, fingers curled in the space that Jensen will soon be here to occupy.

Soon. That’ll be a present enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. Two-Hundred Two: Erase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> erase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to this song again. Erase, The Chainsmokers. Etc. I just really like it.
> 
> No particular POV or anything, tbqh.

_erase._

the first shot goes down easy. tastes like fire at the back of his tongue and things he doesn’t want to remember, slammed back against the surface of the bar. too loud in his deafening bubble of silence.

_erase._

second one is harder and he grimaces, grits his teeth. doesn’t taste it so much as he feels it in his chest, fire-hot in his lungs. empty is what he wants and the edges are starting to blur.

_erase._

third’s too fast. has him choking; loses half the drink trying not to drown in it. throat seizes up and he can’t breathe for a moment and it’s maybe the most physical representation for the feeling he’s trying to bury.

_erase._

more follow and the corners of his vision start to go dark. he’s leaving everything behind and chatter fades into nothingness, concerned voices and other people left behind. alone and quiet except for the part he needs to forget.

_erase._

opens his eyes and his brother’s still gone. no number of shots is going to make that go away and something in him knows that he’ll never have that smile again; that laugh. those touches under the covers where no one can see.

_erase._

doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Two-Hundred Three: Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s always beautiful when it starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little thing with pyro!Dean. But also some like... pyrophobic!Dean? Who knows.

It’s always beautiful when it starts.

One spark, a little friction; it’s nothing Dean’s not used to. Friction is all he knows, between hunting and Dad and his brother and their bizarre little life, and introducing it as a source of heat, of kinetic energy to cause a chemical reaction between the oxygen in the air and whatever’s close and unlucky enough to become the fuel-

He’d read up on the science of it, once. Memorized terms and mumbled “oxidation” to himself a few times before deciding he prefered to keep it simple, even if it’s nice to understand how it all works to begin with.

The end result is what matters, anyways. Whether it’s a slow build with heavier fuel or a quick burn through tissue paper, grass, human hair- it’s  _thrilling_ , sends shivers down his spine to watch it grow and consume. There’s a power to it, an energy that can’t be contained, and watching it destroy everything in its path, taking life and leaving nothing in its path but ash and-

And it takes. It takes, and it takes, and it doesn’t know how to give.

Dean thinks, sometimes, that they’ve got that in common.

So he crouches with his matches and little piles of sticks, paper, fabric; anything and everything he can get his hands on. He burns and he burns, works his way through everything he can light and everything he can get away with, and he doesn’t know how to stop.

Doesn’t know where to stop, the way  _that_ fire didn’t stop before-

Before.

It’s easier to pretend like he controls it. Like it’s his friend. Easier to embrace the destruction and the heat, because that way, he can almost believe that it doesn’t terrify him. That he doesn’t need to look away every time his father lights up a corpse, every time Sammy lights a candle in the dark,  _every time._

He can almost pretend that it didn’t ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Two-Hundred Four: Lethal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s real pretty when she cries, but Dean still doesn’t like knowing he’s the reason for it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I dabbled in the whole death row thing pre-death row au. Neat.
> 
> Uh. MCD, I guess?

She’s real pretty when she cries, but Dean still doesn’t like knowing he’s the reason for it now.

Always knew he’d get caught, in the end. S’how they all go; get a little sloppy, a little lazy, a little too comfortable, and- and s’just like that. Snap of the fingers and he’s behind bars, thrown in with the thieves and the rapists ‘cause they don’t understand that he’s an artist; that he’s real careful with his victims and always makes sure they’re the ones who need to go. Keep the prisons a little less crowded for all the creeps he took off the streets.

But. But the justice system isn’t good with his kinda justice; with leaving the creeps screaming and bloody and burned into ash when he’s done. Always thought it was neater than anything the justice system managed, but here he is now, ‘bout to find out just how clean they do it when it’s legit.

It’s lethal injection. Supposed to be painless, like it matters. Doesn’t seem like much of a death if there isn’t a little show, but- but maybe this is better, ‘cause his momma’s in the front row with tears on her cheeks and little Sammy clinging to her arm. His daddy’s got his arm around ‘em both like he’s the only thing keeping the family together, now, and that’s the only thing Dean regrets. Hates that he’s leaving them behind ‘cause they’re  _his._ They’re his to take care of and this feels kinda like he’s failing them in that, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Not much he can do now, though, with the little needle they’re slipping into his arm, so he just focuses on breathing. Not like he’ll be keepin’ it up much longer, anyway.

He smiles and he looks at his little family. Blows a kiss to his mom and winks at his baby brother and gives his dad a sober, serious look, ‘cause Dean’s pretty sure he’ll come back as one o’ them angry spirits if they aren’t getting taken care of like they deserve. Dean isn’t gonna be around anymore to kiss his momma’s cheek or take Sammy to the park, so someone better fill his spot.

There’s a countdown he doesn’t listen to ‘cause he’s busy memorizing all their faces. Gotta have somethin’ for all the time he’ll be spending down in Hell.

He tries to blink the blur out of his eyes but it doesn’t go, and it’s kinda like he’s falling asleep.

It’s his momma’s voice in the back of his head, and it sounds like a lullaby, and it sounds like forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Two-Hundred Five: Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s heard the whispers before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of dyslexic!Dean.

Dean’s heard the whispers before. He’s twelve years old and it’s hard enough to keep up with school as it is without constantly moving around, jumping between teachers and subjects and classmates and books. It’s confusing and disorienting, and with every new town, he feels a little farther behind. A little less smart than the other kids around him. A little more terrified because there’s no way he’ll be able to catch up. No way he’ll ever be good enough at this.

Sammy doesn’t have the same problem. Sammy’s a genius; Sammy is miles ahead of the other kids his age and reads Dean’s books better than Dean does and is always excited to go to school in the mornings. Sammy’s too smart for his own good and Dean loves him for it, but.

But he’s heard the whispers. From the other kids, and from the teachers, and from everyone around him, he thinks. Whispers of  _“he’ll catch up,”_  and  _“he’s trying his best,”_  and  _“just give him some time.”_ Of  _“can’t he read?”_  or  _“why’s he so slow?”_  Whispers that paint his cheeks crimson with shame and have him shrinking back into his seat, trying to be small and trying not to breathe too hard or start crying.

He  _tries._ He tries and he tries and he’s never good enough. Letters jumble together and his words trip over themselves because twenty pairs of eyes on him is twenty too many and he just  _can’t_.

So one day, he doesn’t.

He wakes up and he walks Sammy to school, and he goes to his class and waits his turn to read and feels that tight squeezing in his chest that constricts around his lungs and heart and makes it hard to breathe, makes it hard to hear the “your turn, Dean,” that’s a little too tentative and a little too gentle, and-

And he. Smiles.

“Nah, I’m good.”

And the class laughs and the pressure lifts and he spends his afternoon in the principal’s office, but. 

But maybe things are better this way. 

It doesn’t hurt to fail if he doesn’t try to begin with.

(Dean has never liked the feeling of failure.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Two-Hundred Six: Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bunker is always quiet this late at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little fix-it re: season twelve stuff.

The bunker is always quiet this late at night. Or rather, it’s always in this state of pseudo-quiet, in which all the regular sounds fade into the background silence, the whirring of distant machines inconsequential in the peaceful darkness. In any case, it’s relaxing. It’s comfortable in a way Dean’s been missing recently, but now- now, they finally have some time to rest.

Sam is sleeping at his side. He’s warm and soft and fragile, wounds healing slowly but surely the way they always do. Perhaps his body has been battered and beaten enough over the years that this is just another routine; sleep and recover in the safety of Dean’s arms. The time he’d spent with the Men of Letters was far too long, and Dean still hates himself a little for not finding his brother sooner, but it’s in the past. The familiar heartbeat that runs strong under the palm of his hand, resting on Sam’s chest just above the bandages, is enough reassurance for now.

It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard, between their mom and their new enemies and the powerful allies who’ve hidden themselves away. Everything is too much, and sometimes, Dean thinks it would be so much easier to just let it all go. To curl up in a ball and let the world fall apart him, the way he’s wanted to so many times in the past.

But Sam is here. Sam is safe, and sleeping, and he will heal. Sam is at Dean’s side the way he’s supposed to be, and that- that’s enough to keep him going right now. This, right here- this quiet moment in the dead of night, pressed together in bed in the closest thing they’ve had to four walls and a roof since they were children- this makes it seem okay.

Dean is tired, so he presses a kiss to Sam’s cheek before letting himself close his eyes. They’re safe for now. He will be here to watch over his little brother in the morning, when things aren’t so quiet and the world doesn’t make quite as much sense.

Things have never been messier, but at least they’re together and safe. That has always been enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Two-Hundred Seven: Say you'll never let me go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You gotta say it,” Sammy tells him, too serious for the bangs that fall in his eyes and the baby tooth that’s missing and has him lisping his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Roses stuck in my head. Tiny baby Weechesters.

“You gotta say it,” Sammy tells him, too serious for the bangs that fall in his eyes and the baby tooth that’s missing and has him lisping his words. It’s sunset in Illinois and things are soft like they always are at this time of evening, the two of them sprawled out on the hood of the car while they watch the light sink down towards the horizon. “Say it, Dean.”

And Dean has to make a face at that, ‘cause he’s no good at saying things. Never has been; not the way Sammy is, with the words getting all tangled up on his tongue like they’re scared to leave his mouth. Maybe Dean’s the one who’s scared of saying something wrong, but he keeps that quietly tucked away in the back of his head. “C’mon, you already know it. Why do I gotta say it?”

“’Cause that makes it forever!” Sammy says it with so much confidence that it doesn’t even seem silly when he throws his little arms up into the air to emphasize the point. “If you say it, then you gotta do it. That’s what teacher says.”

Dean thinks his little brother maybe puts too much stock in what his teachers tell him, but he doesn’t say that, either. He’s good at not saying things that shouldn’t be said. Real good. “How d’you know I won’t do it anyway?”

“Please?” And that’s when Sammy’s eyes get real big, and his goofy smile is replaced with a trembling little pout. And then he’s- he’s crawling up into Dean’s lap, and Dean knows he’s done for. “Please, Dean?”

Dean tries to resist for a few seconds, even though he knows it’s futile, and then he’s sighing dramatically and wrapping Sammy up in a hug. The last rays of sunlight are creeping away, but his little brother’s body is warm and soft against his. “Fine. I- I promise I’m never ever gonna let you go. Ever.”

And maybe it’s worth saying the words, ‘cause Sammy’s smile lights up so bright that it seems like the sun’s risen all over again. “Me, neither!” he cheers, and he hugs Dean back with skinny arms and Dean doesn’t try to hide his smile.

Forever doesn’t sound so bad. Dean thinks that this promise won’t be very hard to keep.

_(say you’ll never let me go.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Two-Hundred Eight: Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing that Jess decides she likes best about Sam is that’s he’s so impossibly gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to play with the idea of Jess coming from a bit of a rough background. Implied/referenced abuse is a thing.

The thing that Jess decides she likes best about Sam is that’s he’s so impossibly gentle. He’s huge; tall and wide with big hands and big- big  _everything_ , really, and he should be scary, she thinks. He should be terrifying. Sam’s the gentle giant who curls in on himself and smiles all shy and tentative and hides behind his bangs, sometimes, but he’s also the hero who stands up big and tall and makes anyone who poses a threat feel tiny. He stands up for others who can’t stand up for themselves and he’s so powerful and so  _good._

She never feels fear around him. It’s never occurred to her to flinch when he reaches for her, to fumble over the things she says to make sure she doesn’t upset him. Sam makes her feel entirely at ease, like the whole massive length of him has been built to protect instead of to hurt.

(Jess knows he’s capable of that, too. Remembers the crunch of bone under his fist when some dick at a party tried to grab her, pull her along when she was begging him to let go. Remembers the feeling of not being able to breathe for her panic and the terrified relief of a massive stranger coming to her rescue, fire in his eyes and a predator in the way he’d moved.)

It’s new and it’s  _good_ ; it’s everything she’s ever dared to put into a fantasy and when Sam’s hands are on her, touching her like she’s a beautiful little porcelain doll, Jess finally feels safe.

Sam is very, very good at making her feel safe.

“Hey,” he’ll say to her when they’re both almost asleep, a whisper between moonlight and darkness. She’ll be tucked into his side with the sound of his heartbeat strong in her ear, and he’ll touch her face, fingertips like the brush of a butterfly’s wing on her cheek, and she’ll just breathe it in. “I love you.”

Sam Winchester is everything she’s ever missed in her life, and she loves him, too.  _God_ , does she love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Two-Hundred Nine: Highlining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You scared, big brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A silly thing with Sam and Dean as... adrenaline junkies, I guess? Extreme sport guys? Something to that effect.
> 
> Disclaimer: don't try this at home. Or anywhere.

“You scared, big brother?”

Dean just grins, curls bare toes against warm stone. They’re alone today; snuck off together by the Yosemite Falls to get some time to themselves. Not that it’s any different than how they usually spend their days, really. Not when they stand loose and ready at the edge of a cliff face overlooking a lush valley. The sun beats down overhead, and Dean’s got half a mind to worry about burning his shoulders, shirts abandoned as soon as they’d reached the summit. It’s better this way; always felt easier without the extra fabric interfering. Not great for the sponsorships, but then, maybe that’s why they take these days to themselves, anyways.

The line rests where it always does, barely a couple inches wide and stretching over a deep chasm. It’s familiar enough to be comfortable, but enough of a novelty to be exciting- they don’t make it to California too often these days- and Dean rolls his shoulders back, makes sure he’s good and stretched out. “Nah. Why, you havin’ second thoughts, kiddo?”

He’s not looking, but he can feel Sam rolling his eyes. It’s just habit to tease each other now, half-engaged in their endless need to one-up the other; the friendly sibling rivalry that’s helped make them so popular. This is just for them, though, so it’s no surprise when Dean feels the brush of his brother’s knuckles against the base of his spine a moment later, familiar and intimate. It’s the only show the world doesn’t get from them.

Sam’s chin rests on his shoulder and they look out at the view together, the dizzying height and the fine line of support that’ll soon be keeping them from it. “What would you do if I pushed you?”

Barely a breath against his ear, and Dean smiles a little. Another game they like to play. Dean makes a show of peering down, feels Sam’s arm snake around his middle to hold him close. “Die, probably.”

“Mm.” He can feel his brother grinning, giving him a squeeze. “Guess so. You gonna clip in today?”

“You gonna push me if I don’t?”

“No.” Sam’s nose presses in just under Dean’s ear and the two of them just breathe together for a moment. “You’re an idiot, y’know?”

Dean huffs a breathless little laugh and nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

The wind is just another anchor for him as Sam lets him go, and Dean moves forward to take his first step. He breathes with his movements and takes it slow, ‘cause he didn’t even bother bringing his harness out today and he knows his brother would never forgive him if he fucked this up and got himself killed.

It’s stupid, and they’d lose all sorts of support if they got caught, but there’s that  _high_ that starts to come over him with the tensing of his muscles and the racing of his heart, moving step by step across the expanse of the valley, hundreds of feet in the air. Sam’s eyes are pinpricks on his back and Dean doesn’t let himself slip. Steady breaths and steady feet.

It’s a lot to risk for the thrill of an adrenaline rush, but Dean’s never really believed in doing anything halfway. 

“See you on the other side,” he says to his feet, but figures Sam probably got the message, too.

They’ve been good at that part, so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Two-Hundred Ten: Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the scent that catches Sam’s attention, at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SamJess again because it's important. And... wiccan!Jess because I was in a mood.

It’s the scent that catches Sam’s attention, at first. Smoke, but sweeter than regular burning wood- something cloying and warm that leads him mindlessly through the forest, trail abandoned in favour of chasing it down. He pushes through undergrowth and fumbles blindly, breathes in deep and steady like he’s in a trance, following his nose until he reaches its source.

It’s a cabin. An unmarked cabin in the middle of the woods, small and quaint. A little weathered, but well-loved, wind chimes out front and a sturdy chimney from which thin wisps of smoke curl up towards the evening sky. It explains the smell, but still, Sam finds himself moving closer, pushing past a few more stray branches until he’s moving up the steps on the front porch and towards the door.

An intricate, cyclic design is painted on the door’s wooden surface, and he tries to trace it with his eyes only to find them lingering on its handle. Hesitates just a moment before knocking, because it’s getting late regardless and he needs directions after taking himself so far off-course. His pack feels a thousand pounds heavier than it did an hour ago and he’s exhausted, and perhaps the smell of the smoke has drawn him in further than intended.

He doesn’t hear a sound, but the door opens a moment later, slow and careful, and all Sam can do is stare.

She’s ethereal. Beautiful; barefoot in a wispy white gown that falls to her knees. Flowers woven into golden curls and eyes as green as the forest that surrounds them, wide and curious and warm. He’s transfixed with the way she moves, the way her fingers curl, long and gentle, around the edge of the door. Looks young and ageless, somehow, as a smile curls her lips, gives her a playful air that has Sam half-swaying closer.

“Hi,” she says, and her voice is everything clean and good. Sam can smell her, too, something delicate and floral. “What’s your name?”

“Sam,” he replies, soft and a little dazed. Her smile grows. “I’m Sam.”

He’s already hers by the mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and he can’t bring himself to have a single regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Two-Hundred Eleven: Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh… flowers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous prompt: "Hurray, fluff! How about Sam wooing Dean? And Dean being a smol, blushy, shy baby? <3"
> 
> So... a soft thing.

“Uh… flowers?”

They don’t do this. They don’t do the whole “romance” thing; whatever they’ve got between them, whatever twisted, backwards, upside-down  _thing_  they’ve gotten themselves tangled up in, it’s unspoken. It’s a quiet, tacit sort of agreement, something that is simply understood. They just  _are_ , and it’s so much easier to let it exist as it does. Neater.

Except- except. Flowers.

Sam’s grinning like a madman, holding out the bouquet, and- and okay, he used to do this when he was little for Valentine’s or Mother’s Day or any other holiday that gave him an excuse to pick flowers for Dean, but now they’re grown-ass men and Dean’s pretty sure today doesn’t mean anything. Nothing except for that Sam’s decided to give him a bouquet of flowers, anyway.

“Flowers.” Sam’s smile turns a little sheepish as Dean takes the flowers from him, bringing them up for closer inspection. Roses. There are roses, among a half-dozen others he can’t name. “I mean- we’ve been doing this for a while, but I feel like we’ve never really done it right, y'know? So- here. Flowers. One step at a time, right?”

And Dean- Dean doesn’t really know what to say. Even before this- before Sam- he never did romance. Every relationship was a hit-and-run, with neither party slowing down to take in the view. It’d never occurred to him how it’d feel to actually try for something like this, and now it’s-

It’s good. It’s really, really good, and-

“You’re blushing!” Sam sounds absolutely gleeful, and even as Dean trips over himself trying to insist otherwise, his cheeks just burn hotter when Sam coos at him. “I’d have done this ages ago if I knew you were into it.”

“I’m not!” Dean insists, but his fingers are curled tight around the flower stems and he’s already trying to remember if they own a non-cursed vase. “They’re just- I don’t…” Except that he doesn’t really have anything to say, so instead of trying, he just lets his brother gather him up in a hug and grumbles something that sounds like “thanks, asshole,” into the side of his neck.

Maybe romance is kinda worth a shot, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Two-Hundred Twelve: Reassurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s finally sleeping, and Sam can only be grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-WIAWSNB. Because I love it and it hurts me.

Dean’s finally sleeping, and Sam can only be grateful. He’d insisted on returning to the motel after dropping off the girl they’d found, his own trauma and blood-loss be damned, and Sam’s been keeping a close eye on him since for fear of his brother toppling over and getting himself hurt even worse. It was only a few hours that they spent apart, but the blind terror as he’d pulled every stop, stolen a car, searched every square inch of road in his desperate attempts to track down his brother still lingers in the back of his throat. It tastes like copper and he swallows hard, trying to dislodge it.

Dean’s still too pale but at least he’s breathing, some of the colour returned to his cheeks with the time spent away from the djinn. Sam moves slow when he sits down on the edge of the bed and turns to watch the steady rise and fall of Dean’s chest, counting out metronome beats that work to soothe the remnants of panic that cling to his heart.

“You’re okay,” he says softly, and he’ll hate himself if he wakes Dean now but he needs to do this. “You’re okay, Dean. I’ve got you.”

Sam holds his brother’s hand in a way that hasn’t been allowed since he was a skinny little kid, and he counts every blessing he’s got, because Dean woke up. He doesn’t know what happened, yet, and he doesn’t know that he wants to, but.

Dean is awake. Dean is here. Dean is okay.

Sam tucks away the clawed feeling of desperation that had driven him to that faith healer last year and sits quietly, counting heartbeats and ticks of the clock and the freckles that dust the tops of Dean’s cheeks.

Dean is okay. Dean is okay.

That’s always been the first building block.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	31. Two-Hundred Thirteen: Cracked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s heart beats a thump thump thump against the inside of his ribcage, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work quite the way it’s supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is. Hm.

Dean’s heart beats a  _thump thump thump_  against the inside of his ribcage, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work quite the way it’s supposed to.

Maybe it was that electrical shock that restated it and should have ended his life. Maybe it was earlier than that; maybe it was one of the tumbles he’s taken or the blades that have cut into his skin. Maybe it was one of the people he’s lost or the childhood he didn’t get to have that turned his heart into a broken, stumble-step machine, but the why doesn’t matter so much anymore; he’s stuck with it now and has to live with its malfunctions and shortcomings.

He doesn’t love the way most people do. He sees his little brother and thinks  _protect_  and that’s as close as he gets. There are his friends, who are special, and his family, who are necessary, but there’s an empty little space that only Sam can touch that Dean thinks is supposed to be filled with  _something._

Cassie and Lisa tried to brush it, with the tips of their fingers and the curve of their lips. Dean thinks that maybe they made it a little smaller until Sam came back to cradle it close again.

Dean doesn’t know what made him this way, or why. He doesn’t know how to fix it and doesn’t know if he really wants to, but sometimes he’s warm with Sam’s presence and sometimes that almost feels like enough. It has to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
